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Show JgBHOTSWIWIOTm III """"f Vi ' WM Hs HK' SWINGING ON THE GATE. , J4 Hv r 3 ean see a picture painted. I cab smell the drying hay K, Where the busy mower rattle through the lazy summer's day , 1 can ate the hungry plowboy wading through the billowed corn, ft , With expectant ear to windward, Hat ning to the dinner horn While unconscious of necessity, the future or of fate, J' 1 mako wondrous childish journeys as I swing upon the gate. Hj Strange how hack among the many recollections ot the past i Memory will grope and wander till it brings to us at last i Homo )xor, foolUh, fond remembrance, seeming hardly worth the while Halt Vet somehow made wondrous potent, like a tender passing smile, Hi'? fleeting, gone, and soon forgotten yet remembered by and by. HjL With a swelling in the bosom and a dimming of the eye. Hlf Now my temples fast are graying and my eyes hare sober grown HFc With the years of varied happiness and sorrow I have known; K' .Still I sometimes hear thn echo, when the evening lights are low T And without my darkened casement ghostly breezes eerie blow, B . Ot the friendly, rusty rattle ot the latchet as M,hen late In the hazy, lazy summertime we swung upon the gate. ' Lowell Otus Iteesc, in Lcsllo's Weekly. |